gyarosGot to say, without my usual dose of bullshitting, when I first laid sight on the title I thought to myself, what a sick and ironic title it was. How cool would it be if I were able to read it?

And who says the Duck never gets whatever she wants?

Put on a little bit of completely genuine kindness in offering the co-authors a chance for your’s truly to pour over your words in vehement determination and a slanted eye for faulties. The everydays of my life, brightened up by the bopping daisy of which normal people would refer to as Rohan Healy, with the cool accent and all. And whom I would refer to Happy Ol’ Ro. – Ahem, I’ve finally found a nickname for you equivalent to your’s for mine.

But I know half of you here aren’t really interested in what I have to say, not without that priceless accent no less, of which I am so not jealous of. Ahem. Yeah, I did not try to imitate it while reading the story aloud at all. That’s too shameless, even for the Duck.

What the Duck isn’t shameful of is spreading herself all over the story of Gyaros.

Summary a la moi : Timid middle aged man works in non-inspiring job who can’t stand up for himself enough to probably have lasted an entire conversation with le Duck had she not been asking him to lay off on the electricity bills. Cause of course this sort of an ‘office meat’ would be mulling his days in that sort of a place.

With my blessings, and much anticipated disaster, he was sent to hell. – How evil am I?

It was red, it was ugly, it was hot, it was scary. It was totally worth it.

Carthage is like high school. Your perfect green planet. It’s the prom, the cafeteria, the post popular well-known, best-dressed, acing kids in school, that nobody but themselves and each other love. The Duck thinks so anyway.

Gyaros is like, a life. Your ugly red zit – that sounds about grotesquely right, good enough to keep those home coming queens away from it. It’s my alternative fantasy, sort of-ish, or just the people that I’m fascinated with. It’s a little bit of a personal bias when I say the characters of Gyaros really hit me as the ones in our daily lives who may be looked down on and judged without a second thought. The tough cookies. The mushy chocolate fudge fillings. I’d die for the real thing or the metaphor. But don’t let that stop you from thinking they’re any less badass than how Gyaros was made out to be. A triple-fattening formula like that is called badass. The irresistible charm of ‘I must have you now’ .

That’s a bit too far.

Let’s say I got choked up and tensed while eating my dinner in bed (so bite me, I’m lazy) as I was reading an intense and monumental moment the other night. I hadn’t even realized it until I sort of lost my appetite, and the Duck does not ever stop eating.

That is basically me, with the looking up. Belly and all, too.  I'm proud.
That is basically me, with the looking up. Belly and all, too. I’m proud.

An even better example would be to appeal to your audience, typical. When I get into a book or a movie, my head automatically wants to meets chin to second chin with my chest. Therefore my eyebrows would wrinkle up to let me see. And damn was I doing some good review of the somewhat Pug face.

My forehead has probably aged 10 years and my neck 5. Ladies and gents, this is wisdom I say.

As per usual, I am upset with the ending.

Not because it was bad. It was just, the ending. My chin was halfway to drooping, my eye sight to glaring when I scrolled down to the next page, only to be met with ‘The End’.

Kill me now.

At least Rohan had the courtesy to plug in some epilogues. Cruel also, cause they were good – which is bad.

I also wanted to take a step aside of my alter-ego and give big congrats to Rohan’s brother who co-authorized Gyaro’s first book, he’s only a few years older than I am, and now I feel small.

If you made it thus far in reading my writing, you’ll survive Gyaros. Or not. The Duck only wants her meat medium-rare.